


Don't, Sammy

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's been having trouble keeping things from Sam as it is, but when Sam tells him that he's not the only one who's been wanting things they can't have, well, Dean doesn't know what to think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't, Sammy

**Author's Note:**

> So... I don't know if the summary will sound better than the actual story, but I try. This is just to test the waters of entering the wonderful world of Supernatural (Wincest), and to get a feel of the characters (or two of them, anyway). Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything, except maybe the dialogue? But who's to say that hasn't been generated by the creators of Supernatural already? (They'd do that, wouldn't they? XP)

Dean opened the door quietly, shutting it behind him as he entered the room, relieved to find it empty.

“Dean, we need to talk.”

Dean jerked.

“Son of a bitch!”

"Flattered. You’ve been avoiding me, Dean. Think you can tell me why?”

With a weary sigh, the older man sat down heavily on the bed and tugged his boots off.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Sammy.”

“Just cut the crap, Dean! I want an explanation.”

Dean stood and glared at Sam, arms crossing defensively.

“So just because I don’t spend every waking minute with you, you think something’s wrong? You’re not that important, Sam.”

Sam scoffed.

“You know, I might have fallen for that a week ago, when you, you know, didn’t talk in your sleep.”

Dean gaped at his brother.

“Yeah, surprised me too.”

“Then, did you-“

“Hear anything interesting? Definitely.”

Dean flinched and turned away from Sam’s steady gaze.

“And you’re asking why I’m avoiding you? What, you want all the dirty details?”

“Well, yeah. But I don’t think you’re up for that yet.”

Sam stepped away from Dean, eyes darting around the room nervously.

“I just wanted you to know that you’re not in this alone.”

* * *

Whatever Dean was expecting, when and if Sam ever found out about his less than innocent dreams ( _starring, hey! Surprise! Sam and Dean Winchester!_ ), it definitely wasn’t this. Come on, he figured Sam would just give the teary ‘You’re still my brother, even though you turned out to be a creep’ speech at best, and hightail it out of the town at worst.

He didn’t know if this was any better.

(And if there was a God, he must seriously enjoy messing with Dean, because, really? Talking in his sleep? _That’s_ how Sam finds out?)

“Sam, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, Dean!” Sam shot back, “You just think I don’t know what I’m talking about!”

If this was any other situation, Dean would be giving his brother hell for not being able to come up with a better retort, but Sam was moving closer and- _hey, bad idea!_

Sam lightly caressed his brothers’ tanned skin, eyes locked with Dean’s.

“Hey, Dean, relax, just relax.”

Dean couldn’t. Relax? Really, Sam? How could he, when all he wanted to do was to step closer and reach out to- _stop right there, damn it!_

“This is wrong, Sammy,” he whispered, voice filled with suppressed frustration.

Sam’s only response was to move closer. No, Sammy, don’t.

“Dean, I’m going to kiss you, alright? And if you- if you really hate it,” he paused, swallowing nervously, “then we’ll just pretend it never happened.”

Dean let out an empty chuckle. Sam was like an open book- for Dean, at least. He could see the fear in Sam’s eyes. He could see the want, the uncertainty... the self-hatred. He could see all that because he felt it too. As his brother- _his brother, damn it, pull away!_ \- inched closer (as if approaching a scared, wounded animal, _really, Sam?_ ), Dean felt a surge of pleasure deep within him and he flinched. Sam froze and tore his hand away from Dean’s shoulder.

“Damn it! I- Dean, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I- Okay, you’re obviously not alright with this. Just- just forget about it,” he glanced around the room, looking lost and helpless, “I’ll- I guess I’ll just go.” Dean didn’t make any move to follow.

Truth is, Dean had never looked at Sam like that, _God, he couldn’t even say it_ , before Stanford. He’d always seen him as a person he had to take care of; his little brother. What kind of psycho would get off on that? He’s always had to protect him, always had to make sure nothing was wrong in the little world of Sammy, and if he’d failed sometimes, well, Sam had never blamed him, not really.

God, he makes himself sick.

If only Dad could see them now. Or not, actually. That’d be a riot.

_Of all the times for hunts to dry out..._


End file.
